Learning How to Deal
by Little Webby
Summary: How will Sara deal after messing up an investigation? How will the other CSIs help her to deal? WIP
1. A Rookie Error

This is my first CSI fic, so please go a little easy! All reviews are definitely welcome – reviews are what make the world a happier place – but please, no flames, they will only be used to toast marshmallows.

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I don't own any of the names that you will recognise. I wish I did, but I don't, so please don't sue me!

* * *

As dawn began to shed light over Las Vegas for another day, Sara couldn't even begin contemplating going out to enjoy the early morning sun. She'd messed up and didn't she know it. 'A rookie error, Sara; a god damn rookie error' she berated herself and slammed her fist into a nearby cabinet – only feeling the pain that she felt that she deserved.

'Hey, c'mon, what did it ever do to hurt you?' a voice surprised her from behind, causing her to immediately twist round to find the source. 'Was just there and a convenient punch bag, I guess,' Sara tried, forcing a smile.

'Then you know that we've had to let Justin Williams go, I take it?' Grissom lent relatively casually against the door-frame as he spoke, his tone gentle, yet matter-of-fact.

'Yeah, I heard.' Sara started to pace up and down the room, her gaze focussed on the ground. 'It's my fault, we had the evidence and I messed up. The scum-bag's going to walk free because I got it wrong, Griss. I contaminated the evidence and he's going free to go and kill some other poor girl.' As she spoke, she was almost spitting venom. Her eyes were filled with a deep passion, a hatred of him and both what he and she had done coupled with a sense of guilt that made her feel sick.

'We'll get him. Don't worry; we'll get him in the end.' Grissom tried to reassure his younger colleague, but knowing that his words were futile.

'You're telling me not to worry?' Sara spat. 'How many more is he going to kill before we get him again, Griss? How many people are going to die because of my stupid mistake? How can you even begin to tell me not to worry?'

For an instant, Grissom thought that the fuel of her anger wasn't going to burn out. But then, within seconds of running out of words, he could see the tears begin to well up in her eyes – the first sign that she might be letting her defences down to let her true emotions out. And he was there to catch her, immediately by her side to provide both a metaphorical and a literal shoulder to cry on. At first she tried to push him away, tried to gruffly wipe away the tears as though they were a pest that had no right to be there. But then she couldn't do it any longer. The emotion finally overwhelmed her as the tears and the pain started to flow in a steady stream and she was forced to admit that she needed the shoulder to cry on, that she needed the support that he provided.

'Shhh, it's alright. It's going to be alright.' He gently helped her onto a nearby chair and provided a tissue from his pocket. While he knew that, if it weren't for the incontrollable tears, she would brutally inform him that it was anything but alright, she needed to hear the comforting lies that he spoke. 'Sure, you made a mistake,' he continued, 'but everyone does – yeah, even you. We will get him. There'll be other evidence and we _will_ get him. Don't beat yourself up over it.'

Sara continued to sit with her head in her hands for a while, trying to order the jumble of thoughts on her mind and to control the torrent of tears. But then, slowly, she sat up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face as she did so. 'Thanks,' she managed.

'I tell you what, why don't you go home and try to get some sleep?' Grissom tried. 'You haven't had a good night's sleep for a while and it would probably help.'

Sara stared at him in disbelief. How would sleep help anything? How could he even consider her sleeping at a time like this?

Yet she didn't have either the will or the energy to argue and so, somehow, her body defied her thoughts to spill out the words 'Yeah, I think I will.' And before she knew it, she was outside in her car, driving along the highway – in anything but the direction to her bed.

The roads were relatively clear – as she had expected for that time in the morning – and for this small blessing, she was grateful. Fewer cars meant fewer things for her weary mind to think about and allowed her to consider more what she was about to do. A part of her was screaming that Grissom was, of course, right, and that she should simply turn around now and no-one would ever need to know what she was contemplating. And yet she kept driving – the seemingly irrational part of her conscience winning the battle in her mind – and pulled up by the familiar yellow and black tape.

With shades to protect her still-red eyes from the sun and anyone who might recognise her and ask what was wrong, Sara re-familiarised herself with her surroundings and got to doing what she did best – dusting every square inch of the scene for a fingerprint or anything, anything at all, that could once and for all prove the case.

She could still sense the restless spirit around the place - a presence that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and urged her to continue her search for evidence. She had tried to kid herself that it was just the air-conditioning, unwilling to admit to either herself or anyone else that there could be a supernatural presence there.

Her search was relentless and systematic – an attempt to make up for previous errors with perfection this time round. Her only pauses came in order to wipe the occasional bead of sweat from her brow. She tried every trick in the book, hoping that the impossibility of a perfect crime was matched with the impossibility of perfect investigating, and that she could find something that might previously have been missed.

But every alley-way that she turned up proved to be a dead-end as she drew blank after blank after blank. A fire in her heart demanded that she didn't give up even though she knew that she was not getting anywhere. More than that though, the focus required to do what she was doing allowed her once more to build up a defence against her emotions.

'They said that you might be here,' a voice once again startled her from behind, making her swear to be more alert in future.

'Yeah… well….' Sara got gingerly to her feet, unimpressed by both the distraction and the fact that she was being checked up on.

'You shouldn't be here,' Warrick pressed on, as uncomfortable with the situation as he guessed that Sara must be. 'C'mon, I'll take you home.'

'I can get home quite alright by myself thanks,' Sara spoke in far harsher a tone than she had intended. 'And I don't need people checking up on me. I'm a big girl now and can look after myself.'

'I never said that you couldn't.' Warrick held his hand up in mock surrender. 'I'm just offering you help and advice as a colleague and a friend. You look for too tired to be driving and you shouldn't be around here. I mean, not only should you be getting some rest and taking a step back from this case, but Williams could be back round here any time – and I can't imagine that you're exactly on his Christmas card list at the moment.'

Sara had to admit that Warrick was talking sense, much as she hated to admit it. And so, taking off her gloves with more than a hint of resignation, she went without a word and let herself in the passenger door of his truck.

'Do you wanna talk about it?' Warrick asked as they headed down the highway, a deep concern in his eyes.

Sara shrugged, not quite sure how to play this one. 'Not much to talk about.'

Warrick took the hint, knowing not to press the issue any further. Grissom had told him to go easy and he had experienced the fiery temperament of Sara Sidle on enough occasions to know to tread carefully.

It wasn't long before Warrick's truck had pulled up outside Sara's place. By now it was the middle of the day and the sun was beating down on the concrete. Both Sara and Warrick were surprised by the intensity of the heat as they left the air-conditioned sanctuary of the vehicle.

'Are you gonna be alright?' Warrick questioned, knowing the answer already, but asking anyway. As expected, he got the reply of an assured nod and the simple words 'Yeah. Thanks.' All that he could do was watch as she let herself into the building and closed the door with a reassuring smile of thanks. He waited outside in the heat for a few minutes, just in case she changed her mind. But, unsurprisingly, she didn't.

In fact, Sara hadn't got any further than the front door before the emotions of the previous days finally took over her body. And it was there, slouched against the door, that she stayed for an unknown period of time, hugging her knees into her body and allowing the tears to flow freely. Her entire body ached and the tears only compounded the helplessness that she felt. And then, eventually, as though her body had done with crying and simply had no more tears to shed, her red and puffy eyes dried and, drained, she was able to make her way to her couch where her eyes were quick to close and allow her to immerse herself in sleep.

* * *

Little did she know though, as she slept, that only a few miles down the road her situation was being discussed and her fate decided.

'She's the goddamn best CSI I've worked with,' one voice stated with conviction.

'But she messed up. Who says that she won't do it again?' another voice added with equal passion.

'She won't. I say that she won't. I would trust her with my life,' the first voice responded.

'And if she does…?' the second voice continued to probe.

'She won't. End of discussion. She stays on,' a third voice entered the equation and ended any argument that might have been developing.

And, as if to make sure that the others in the room knew that this _was _the end of the discussion, a final door slam dismissed any lingering doubts. Sara Sidle was staying on but… well, the 'but' was probably going to be bigger than anyone expected.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Apparent Apathy

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you very much to Dark Princess 87, em j, firestorm13 and csialltheway for your reviews. Please keep R&Ring – reviews are what keep me smiling and my fingers typing. As ever, constructive criticism is most welcome – but flames will be used for cooking purposes.

DISCLAIMER: I still do not own any of the names that you may well recognise. If I did, I reckon that I'd be on some tropical island just about now….

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For an instant when Sara woke, the innocence of sleep left the impression of general contentment. In fact, she almost smiled as she saw the late evening sun glowing low in the sky and a gentle breeze rustling the upper reaches of the trees, making the intense heat a little more bearable. A lone bird glided aimlessly through the endless colours of sky and the world, for once, seemed to be at peace. 

But it was then that it all came flooding back, the sweet air leaving a bitter taste in her mouth and the sun burning a hole in her very being.

She was filled with an urge to simply turn over and to return to the world that she had been previously enjoying, and yet was wide awake and on her feet within a few seconds. In and out of the shower before it had even had time to warm up, it was only a matter of minutes before Sara was washed and dressed and had forced some food down her throat.

Sara had always been one of those people who the rest of the world dreams of having on their side in times of crisis – someone with the ability to press on no matter the circumstances, someone who can put personal pain on hold, someone who will go on and on and on again… until she breaks. And so it was that it was of no surprise to anyone when she turned up on time for her shift.

'What have we got?' she asked purposefully, tying her hair back as she spoke.

Greg shot a glance at Nick, who looked to Warrick, who, in turn, turned to where Catherine and Grissom were.

Only temporarily thrown, Grissom pressed on with his intended plans. 'Warrick and Nick, we've got a request for our services at a crash on the highway. Truck overturned and they smell foul play. Catherine, you and Greg can take the shooting downtown.'

There was an awkward silence.

'Well, what are you waiting for?' Grissom questioned. 'Get going!'

They didn't need telling twice and, although slightly surprised, they had all learned to accept Grissom's own methods of leadership and trusted that he would take the right course of action.

Once the door had finally closed, Grissom turned to Sara. For the first time in years, she felt scared and slightly intimidated by his presence, although her casual lean against the wall gave away nothing.

'We need to talk,' he tried in a way that Sara had always associated more with the break-up of a relationship than anything work related. Sara said nothing in reply, as if saying that it sounded a lot more like it was him who needed to do the talking.

'You can't go out in the field for a while. Just until this whole thing blows over a bit,' Grissom stated simply, never one to beat about the bush.

The same silence as before screamed frustration on Sara's part and a general discomfort on that of Grissom's. He had expected more of a response from his usually fiery tempered colleague and was more than a little shocked when she met the news with an apathetic shrug.

'Sorry…' he attempted to ease the tension.

'Not you fault. You didn't mess up an investigation.' Sara spoke calmly, surprising even herself by her control of her emotions. 'I'll go down to the labs and lend a hand down there.'

She eased open the door and went straight to where she had said that she'd go, leaving Grissom more than a little dissatisfied with how the brief discussion had gone. While he hadn't exactly been hoping for Sara to be angry with him and to try to convince him that, in fact, she was up to the job and that it was all well out of order, actually that was exactly what he had been hoping for.

Every now and then when he got a free minute, he would go down to the lab to check that everything was alright, to check that it wasn't all an act for Sara to try her own vigilante mission for justice, but it wasn't. She was getting on with the work, as instructed, getting the results, as expected, and showing absolutely no traces of the emotion that Grissom had been expecting. And it was this, more than anything else, which worried him.

The shift was a relatively quiet one, well, that was, until about an hour before the end of it. Grissom was in his office when the call came in – there'd been another homicide outside one of the major casinos and a certain Justin Williams was once again the prime suspect. Grissom said that he'd take it himself and would be there in a few minutes. Several different scenarios were already playing out in his head. Catherine and Greg had finished their case earlier so would be able to help out, but he figured that Sara needed to be told before she found out for herself. And yet he needed to get to the crime scene…

Making a decision, he went to find Greg and Catherine in the break room. They immediately knew that something was wrong when he entered the room and ceased the banter in which they had previously been engaging. Grissom could think of no other way of delivering the information than by simply sticking to the facts.

'We've got a homicide outside one of the casinos in town and it looks like it may well be the work of Justin Williams again. Greg, you and I are going to head down there now before the crime scene gets messed up by any gamblers or feds. Catherine…' Grissom took a breath to make it clear in his own mind that he was dealing with the situation correctly, 'I want you to break the news to Sara and to keep an eye on her.'

Catherine was about to exclaim that she was a CSI, not a babysitter, and should be going to the crime scene to collect evidence, but then saw enough logic behind Grissom's judgement to simply nod. Everyone thought of something that they felt should be said, but none of them said it. They simply got on with what needed to be done in silence, Greg and Grissom grabbing some kit before heading off, while Catherine played over and over in her mind what she was going to say to Sara while walking down to the lab.

For a while she stood in the doorway, watching her colleague at work. While the work seemed routine, it was obvious to Catherine that she was watching a master (or mistress) at work. She was thorough and precise, yet almost seemed to have a degree of flair in her work. Catherine hated to disturb her, but knew what she had to do.

'Sara, can I have a word?' she asked gently.

Sara's head immediately sprang up from the microscope. 'Sounds ominous, but sure.'

'Can we….?' Catherine gestured towards the door and in the vague direction of the break-room.

Sara nodded, got to her feet and led the way out. Following, Catherine could have sworn that something was different about the way she walked. A slightly shorter stride perhaps or maybe she was a bit tenser in her shoulders.

Catherine closed the door behind her as she went into the room and, like Grissom only a few minutes earlier, was unsure how to break the news. 'It looks like Justin Williams has struck again,' she said simply, looking on and waiting for the reaction.

Sara just stood there, taking in the news. 'OK' she said, once again, showing no signs of the expected emotion. 'Is that all? I mean, it's bad news, but I'm guessing you're not going to tell me that I'm needed at the scene so I might as well head back to the lab.'

Catherine was stunned. She'd got the tissues in her pocket in anticipation and had gone over what she would say to console her friend. Yet all that she could do was nod and watch as Sara left the room.

She had never quite understood her younger colleague, nor did she ever expect to do so – nobody did - everybody was constantly surprised by how Sara would act in situations. But for surprising, this just beat the lot. If it was denial, it was one heck of a denial, if she was running and hiding from the truth, then she was running damn fast but if she was planning anything else… – that was what worried Catherine.

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